


promitto

by SOMNlARl



Series: Tumblr Prompts [16]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ah, there you are. Do I want to know why you’re half-clothed in the tub, filled with cold water I might add, in the middle of the afternoon?” Dorian asked more casually than he felt, leaning up against the wall. “And is there a reason you happen to be drowning my favorite shirt?”</p><p>Cullen shrugged feebly, coughing into his knuckles. “It’s hot,” he mumbled as though that explained anything but at the same time it explained everything. He cupped his hands and splashed water against his face, sighing as the cold liquid hit his brow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	promitto

**Author's Note:**

> _promitto_ means "i promise you" or so my few years of high school latin taught me. it could also be spondeo and i'm really not sure which is the best. any latin scholars feel free to correct me. :)
> 
> For fool-of-arts on tumblr who requested “I would love if you could write a little sickfic maybe? like have Dorian take care of a slightly miserable Cullen? because fluff is always nice. Oh and I forgot, if you could write it as a modern AU I’ll love you forever” 
> 
> So yes. Yes I will. Anything for you. :) I keep swearing I’ll stop writing this trope and then people keep requesting it and I’m all *hops into trash can* “I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE” because i know my damage and what i’m about. I hope this works and thank you SO much for drawing for me omg you are amazing.
> 
> Follow or prompt me on tumblr: [xhermionedanger](http://xhermionedanger.tumblr.com).

Dorian jiggled his key in the lock, finally coaxing the sticky door open. He swore under his breath as he nearly tripped over Cullen’s boots which were strewn haphazardly in front of the door. He kicked them aside and they hit the wall with a loud  _thunk_. Cullen couldn’t possibly be home. His last class on Tuesdays didn’t end until 7:30, he should still be struggling to stay awake through Professor Lavellan droning on about early Thedosian philosophy.

He’d probably just decided on another pair of shoes and left them there, Dorian thought with a frown. It wasn’t like his normally fastidious boyfriend but he had been in a hurry to leave that morning. Normally up with the sun, Cullen had lingered under the covers, burrowing deeper into them until the last alarm went off and Dorian had finally managed to kiss him awake and out of bed, still grumbling about being tired. 

Dorian’s frown only deepened when his eyes lit on Cullen’s faded army-green jacket thrown sloppily over the back of the couch. He only ever wore this one and Dorian was sure he’d been wearing it when he’d left, coat-tails flapping behind him. Either he was somewhere in the apartment or he’d had to come back for some reason and left again without it. Dorian hated either option; it was November, it was freezing. The idea of Cullen outside, in this weather with no coat, was not one he cared to consider. But if he was home something had to be wrong; Cullen never skipped classes without a good reason. 

He checked the kitchen. No Cullen smiling over a sizzling pan or fussing until the countertops gleamed. He wasn’t in the second-bedroom-turned-office, hunched over his laptop and typing furiously, sheets of scribbled-on paper scattered around him. He wasn’t in their bedroom, either curled up in the chair by the bookshelf that Dorian had claimed as his or reading in bed. There  _was_  a large lump in the bed but it was only Gracie, whuffing lightly in her sleep. She opened her eyes at the sound of his footsteps, whined softly and raised a paw until Dorian came to scritch her forehead and soft, velvet ears.

“Where’s your papa, hmm?” He wondered out loud, smiling despite himself as Gracie bumped her nose against his palm and let out a soft  _whuff_. 

Dorian sighed heavily, actually worried now. _Where was he?_ He wondered, not sure where to turn next. It made his head throb and he cooled his fingers with a thread of frost before rubbing them deeply into his temples.

He threw the door to the bathroom open, intending only to fix his hair before he ventured downstairs to see if Cullen’s car was parked in their space. Instead he found Cullen sitting in the bathtub, clad in his  _Sisters of Mercy_  t-shirt and plaid boxers, head on his knees which were tucked tightly into his chest. Dorian thrust his hand into the water and shuddered: It wasn’t even warm.

“Ah, there you are. Do I want to know why you’re half-clothed in the tub, filled with cold water I might add, in the middle of the afternoon?” Dorian asked more casually than he felt as he leaned up against the wall. “And is there a reason you happen to be drowning my favorite shirt?”

Cullen shrugged feebly, coughing into his knuckles. “It’s hot,” he mumbled as though that explained anything but at the same time it explained everything. He cupped his hands and splashed water against his face, sighing as the cold liquid hit his brow. 

Dorian sat gingerly on the edge of the tub, combing Cullen’s hair back over his forehead, hissing at the heat radiating off his skin. “It really,  _really_  isn’t but you are. You’re burning up.”

Cullen hummed tiredly in agreement as he let his head drop onto Dorian’s thigh, drenching his jeans. Dorian shuddered at the sensation but he didn’t have the heart to shove Cullen away. He kept stroking softly through his hair instead. 

“Can you turn the light off?”

Dorian rubbed a thumb across the furrows between Cullen’s eyes. “Headache?”

Cullen nodded and Dorian reached up to flick the light switch off. 

“How long?” He waved a hand absent-mindedly in Cullen’s direction. 

Cullen looked up at him questioningly, amber eyes glassy, fever-bright and he cocked his head. “Maybe half an hour ago? I haven’t been home that long.”

“Not the bath, idiot,” Dorian said affectionately as he ruffled Cullen’s hair. “How long have you been sick?” 

“Three days? Maybe four? I don’t really remember.” came the reply after a few long moments. 

“And you didn’t say anything because…” 

Dorian considered himself a reasonably observant man but he’d missed something, that much was clear. A few days and he hadn’t picked up on anything important but now that he thought back on it… Maybe Cullen  _had_  been more tired than usual. It had been a long week and he’d had three papers to finish; it was normal. He’d been coughing but they’d cleaned the apartment on Saturday, kicking up what seemed like years worth of dust. It was _normal_. Dorian had been warmer at night, tucked into Cullen’s chest but it had felt so good he hadn’t questioned it. It was... no. Nothing about it had been normal. All of the signs had been there.  _Maker_ but he was an idiot, he should have known. 

“I…” Cullen’s breath hitched and he rubbed at his eyes with his fists, biting his lower lip.  _Didn’t want to worry you_ , Dorian finished silently. Dorian’s heart raced high and tight in his chest as he rubbed Cullen’s shoulder. 

“It wasn’t this bad,” Cullen whispered. “I would have… don’t be mad. Please?”

“Shhhh. I’m not mad at you, it’s going to be fine,” Dorian soothed. “Everything’s going to be fine, Carissimus. Just… let’s get you out of those clothes, okay? Can you raise your arms for me?”

Cullen nodded though he really wasn’t much help at all, Dorian thought, his arms hanging limply in front of him. Eventually Dorian managed to tease the sopping fabric off of him and helped Cullen stand, wrapping a soft towel around him before easing him back to sit on the edge of the tub. 

Cullen shivered, curling in on himself. “Don’t feel so good, Dori…”

Dorian rolled his eyes and chuckled affectionately. “Really, Amatus? You don’t say…” He pressed a soft kiss to Cullen’s forehead, pulling away at the sudden burst of heat. “Stay there. I’m just going to get you some fresh clothes, alright?”

* * *

He rifled through Cullen’s dresser until he found a pair of soft, well-worn sweatpants and a sweatshirt. On second thought he grabbed a t-shirt as well, from his own dresser, one of the soft ones Cullen always liked. Before he returned to the bathroom he ran to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the tap. 

Back in the bathroom he handed the glass to Cullen before turning to measure out a handful of pills from the medicine cabinet. A few for the headache and fever, another for the congestion rattling in his lungs and the final two to soothe him to sleep. 

“Take these,” he ordered as he pressed them into the blond’s other hand and Cullen did, grimacing as he swallowed. “And put these on. I’ll be right back, I’m just going to put on some water for tea.” 

* * *

When he returned Cullen was still sitting on the edge of the tub, now in sweatpants but staring defeatedly at the t-shirt. 

“Oh for pity’s…” Dorian muttered under his breath before cutting himself off. He  _knew_  how Cullen was, knew how emotional he’d get at even the slightest hint of criticism when he had a fever. He'd always been like this, so vulnerable when he didn't feel well, from the first moment they'd met nearly five years ago . 

“I’m sorry…” Cullen whimpered, face set in a sorrowful frown, nearly on the verge of unbidden tears. “I’m really sorry…” 

“No, no. Shhh. It’s alright. It’s not your fault. Let me help.” Dorian smiled soothingly as he helped Cullen into the t-shirt then eased the sweatshirt over his head, pausing to smooth his damp curls back into something resembling order. 

Cullen slumped against him, shivering as he curled into his chest. 

“Do you think you can sleep?” Dorian asked, running a hand through Cullen’s hair as the other rubbed slow circles across his back. 

Dorian felt the soft shake of a head against his shoulder. “Couch and Netflix then?”

Cullen nodded and Dorian smiled as he helped him stand, easing Cullen's arm over his shoulder as they walked towards the living room. “Alright. What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t care…” Cullen said grumpily as he fell onto the couch, breaking off in a cough as he buried his face into a throw pillow. 

“Ugh, don’t! That’s my favorite pillow and you’re getting your germs on it,” Dorian teased as he unfurled the blanket lying across the back of the couch and laid it softly over the blond. 

Cullen groaned as he snuggled deeper into it. “Oh fuck…”

“I hardly think you’re up for  _that_.” Dorian replied as he reached for the remote, flipping through their queue until he found what he was looking for. “ _Love Actually_?”

The blanket shakes and he thinks Cullen might have nodded but he pulls it down to uncover his face anyway. 

“ _Don’t_. I’m cold…” Cullen glared at him through rheumy, red-rimmed eyes before he turned away to stifle a cough into his sleeve. 

“I’m going to go get you that tea,” Dorian sighed as he trailed his fingers softly across Cullen’s forehead and up into his hair, combing back tangled curls. 

“I don’t want tea,” came the muffled reply. 

“Well, it’s good for you so have it anyway. Do you want ginger or mint?” Dorian called from the kitchen. “On second thought, don’t answer that. If I have to wait for you to make a decision I’ll still be standing here in the morning.”

When he got back into the living room Cullen was asleep and Dorian thought that was probably for the best. He set the mug down on the floor and sat on the very edge of the sofa, tucking his legs up until he was lying behind Cullen, flush against the back of the couch. 

Cullen shifted in his sleep, pressing closer into Dorian’s chest and he’s warm,  _too warm_  but Dorian doesn’t mind it. 

“Sleep, Amatus,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against the nape of Cullen’s neck. “Sleep will help.”

A few moments later came a raspy, sleep-worn reply. “You promise?” 

“I promise. Get some rest.”


End file.
